


one inch tall

by distira



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2011-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:24:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distira/pseuds/distira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from this prompt at <span><a href="http://footballkink.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://footballkink.livejournal.com/"><b>footballkink</b></a></span>:</p><blockquote>Regarding Forlan, there seems to be the tendency to cast him as a very dark, violent character. I have no clue where this came from, and so I'm asking for the opposite.<p>I'd like to see regular day-to-day established relationship sex with a kind and humble Forlan. Any pairing works, although anon is thinking Suarez.</p></blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	one inch tall

**Author's Note:**

> -wikipedia tells me that suarez is 1.81 meters and forlan is 1.80. having always pictured forlan taller in my head, this was news to me!  
> -the uruguay nt is playing a friendly in ireland in march, i did not make that up  
> -i highly encourage ooing and ahhing over [this most adorable picture](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l90r5tJS6l1qdfnmbo1_r2_500.jpg), kindly provided by the prompter!anon  
> -the grammarian in me is an old fart, so i use the possessive apostrophe-s even when the word or name in question ends in s. last i checked, both luis' and luis's are grammatically correct and i'm old fashioned so i used the latter. apologies if that bugs you.

Diego and Luis are the same height.

Technically, Luis is a fraction taller, but on the pitch, Diego's a more physical presence, versus Luis's crafty runs and slender shoulders. Rolling around in bed, sitting next to each other on the couch, hugging each other goodbye when they return to their respective clubs, they're more or less even. When Diego slouches, Luis has to bend his knees a little bit to rest his chin on Diego's shoulder. When they stand, their hips line up almost exactly, and Diego is fond of sliding his thumb through one of his own belt loops and his forefinger through one of Luis's.

Even so, Luis still likes to pretend he's shorter, short enough to jump on Diego at every opportunity he gets. Scoring goals is a nice excuse, so he tries to do so as often as possible. There's a friendly in Ireland coming up, and Luis is already planning his goal celebration.

"When's your flight?" Luis asks. He hears the keyboard clicking as Diego types. Luis finger pecks when he types. Diego, he suspects, has the top row of the keyboard memorized and can get at least 180 words per minute, blindfolded. Over the phone, it sounds like a tiny army is marching over a plastic bridge.

"I'm making one now," Diego says. Luis laughs.

"Hey, come to Liverpool," he says. "Spend a few days. We can fly into Ireland together. It's on your way."

More typing. Luis gets off the couch and moves into the kitchen to raid the refrigerator. He's only recently moved out of the hotel and his new house still doesn't quite feel like home.

"Yeah, I can do that," Diego finally says. The typing stops. "Pick me up at the airport?"

Luis pulls a bottle of orange juice out of the refrigerator. He contemplates getting a glass, but ends up twisting the cap of and swigging from the bottle. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just say when."

Luis does not jump Diego at the airport. To be fair, it's mostly because it's ass-o'-clock in the morning, as far as Luis is concerned, and he has training in an hour so he hasn't had any coffee. Caffeine and running laps have never sat well with him.

Instead, he waits for Diego at the Arrivals gate, leaning against the wall, half-dozing. Eventually, Diego materializes before him, all blond curls and smiles. He looks big even in the crowd. Luis thinks he'd probably look big standing next to Peter Crouch. The way Diego's jacket stretches tightly across his broad chest helps with the illusion. Luis grins sleepily and winds his arms around Diego, pulling him into a hug.

"So I've got- ah-" he yawns "practice, sorry, I can drop you at the house or you can come with, whatever you want," Luis tells Diego as they throw his bag into the backseat of the car. "It's just the one this morning, then I'm done until we leave, promise."

They get into the car and Luis pulls out. He lets Diego fiddle with the radio stations and drives mostly on autopilot. "It's fine," Diego assures him. "I'll come, if that’s okay."

Luis shrugs. "Don't see why it wouldn't be. There's a game room and shit, you shouldn't be too bored."

He parks and they both get out of the car. Melwood is cold in the mornings. Luis shivers.

"I feel like I'm in enemy territory," Diego jokes as they make their way into the facility. "For all you know, I could be a spy."

Luis hits him on the shoulder. "I always forget you used to be a Manc," he says. "Who the fuck are Man United."

"Very good," Diego laughs. "They've corrupted your English already."

Practice goes smoothly. Luis wakes up more in the locker room and the team heads out to the pitch to warm up. He links nicely with Meireles when they play in the box, and he plays an impromptu game of leapfrog with Pepe during one of the longer water breaks.

"You look happy," Diego tells him as they drive back to Luis's place. Luis looks over at him. He's leaning against the passenger seat window and his hands are resting on his thighs in a pose that would look stiff on anyone else but that suits him just fine. Luis smiles.

"Yeah," he says. "I am. It's good here."

Diego takes a siesta in the afternoon, and Luis putters around the kitchen and the living room, cleaning things and pretending to pack for Ireland. When Diego wakes up, they make one of the freezer pizzas Luis keeps for when he gets hungry late at night, and watch the La Liga highlights of the week.

"Lookin' good," Luis tells Diego, knocking their shoulders together. He points at the on-screen Diego, who's busy scoring a hat trick. Real-life Diego shrugs.

"Thanks," he says, because that's the only way he’s ever known how to take a compliment.

By the end of the highlight show, Luis is sprawled on top of Diego and their noses bump together as they make out lazily. Luis is half-hard in his pants for the way Diego keeps brushing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He pulls back and Diego grunts softly in protest.

"Upstairs?" Luis asks.

Luis's bedroom is bigger than he really knows what to do with. His bed is in the center and his walk-in closet is usually a mess of training clothes and jeans piled up on the floor and a few suits hanging in the back. There are large windows on two walls that he keeps open all day to let the watery English sunlight in, and right now, he's really glad his neighbors are obstructed by a few strategically placed trees, because the way Diego's tugging at his beltloops makes him very reluctant to do anything but pull the striker onto the bed.

He rides Diego, slow enough to make his arms tremble, braced against Diego’s strong shoulders. Diego rocks up into him and meets his hips every time. He's big, big enough that Luis is glad they have a few days before they have to play football, because it's been a while since he's done this, since the last international friendly.

Diego comes first,when Luis changes the angle just slightly and slams himself down hard. He tightens around Diego, milking his orgasm, and then stills for a minute to let him come down before pulling off. He rolls to lie next to Diego and wraps a hand around himself, but Diego reaches over and slaps his hand away. He jerks Luis off, tight and fast the way he knows Luis likes it, until Luis keens and spills over Diego’s hand and his lower belly.

After they clean up, they watch reruns of a cop show in bed for a few hours, before Diego falls asleep with his cheek pillowed on Luis’s shoulder. Luis turns the TV off and grunts as he rolls Diego over, pushing at his bare back until he can cup his own body around Diego’s, taking advantage of the extra fraction of height. He falls asleep with Diego’s hair tickling his forehead.

Diego is a morning person.

This usually annoys Luis, who is not, to no end. He usually grunts and grumbles profanities in Diego’s direction as the striker bangs pans around cooking breakfast or coerces him into going for an early run. Luis can't complain, though, when he wakes up two hours earlier than he'd wanted to, because Diego’s mouthing at his mostly-hard cock through his boxers. Instead, Luis lets his eyes slip closed again and hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers to tug them off.

Diego licks a stripe up the underside of his cock before taking just the head into his mouth and swirling his tongue around. Luis’s eyes fly open and he fists the sheets to keep from bucking into Diego’s mouth. Diego brings his hands to hold Luis’s hips in place as he slowly slides his mouth further up Luis’s cock, until his nose is pressing against Luis’s belly and Luis can feel him exhaling in harsh pants.

Luis hates mornings, but he likes morning sex as much as the next person, so it only takes a few minutes before he's babbling nonsense and petting erratically at Diego's hair. He winds a curl around his forefinger, feeling how soft it is, and accidently tugs on it when one of Diego's fingers reaches back to stroke the skin just behind his balls.

"Shit, Diego," Luis groans as he comes. Diego frowns at him as he swallows, and Luis feels bad, knows Diego doesn't like swallowing. He gives himself a minute, still petting at Diego's hair, smoothing it down and then ruffling it again, then he tugs on it gently until Diego makes his way back up the bed.

"C'mere, I'm sorry," he says. He pushes himself into a kneeling position and slides his lips over Diego's cock. His movements are slow and languid from sleep and orgasm, but he lets Diego buck his hips up into his mouth, lets Diego's cock hit the back of his throat until he comes and Luis swallows him down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You didn't have to," Diego tells him.

"'S okay," Luis shrugs. "I wanted to."

They play football in Luis’s garage. He moves the car out and they dribble around each other, making quick passes and finding different spots on the walls to aim at each time they take a shot.

"So, Ireland," Diego says eventually.

"Gonna score another hat trick?"

Diego shrugs. He flicks the ball up and starts juggling. Luis counts in English, practicing. He loses track around thirty two, when Diego starts talking again. "I was thinking we each get a brace, but I guess a hat trick works, too."

"No, man, I need to score," Luis says. Diego passes the ball off to him and he starts bouncing it off of his laces. "Got a celebration all planned out and everything."

"Yeah?" Luis nods. "What is it?"

"Turn around," Luis instructs. He lets the football fall to the ground. Diego obeys. Luis grins for the way he instinctively braces himself, knowing what’s coming. Luis hops up onto his back. "Like this," he says, "and then you run to the corner flag and slide."

"That might take some practice," Diego says. He hooks his elbows around Luis’s knees, keeping him in place. "I like it."

Luis doesn't score against Ireland. Diego does, though, and he raises his eyebrows at Luis in the seconds afterwards until Luis whoops and jumps onto his back. They don't get the slide in before they're engulfed by their teammates, but Luis thinks, there's always next time.


End file.
